


Perception: Light

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the wake of "Wagon Train", Buck ponders on Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception: Light

**Author's Note:**

> for a variety of prompts, and for the Christmas in July Stockings. 
> 
> Chris +/ Buck, any, when [one] starts talking about that [the other] loses it 
> 
> Chris/Buck, any, moonlight – Dichotomystudio's image: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1790695 
> 
> Notes: Set after "Wagon Train". Special thanks to my awesome betas and to Dichotomystudio's for the use of the wonderful illustration of Chris.

It was late when Buck trotted into the clearing in front of Chris' place, later than he'd planned to come calling. Late by about 2 days. 

They'd all gotten back into town two days before, early evening, and he'd made himself right at home in the saloon. That first beer had been like water after a long day in the sand and heat, and it had led to a few more than he'd intended.

Which had led to a night he didn't remember much of, except that it had been fun and loud and he'd lost some money to Ezra, and Josiah had shared a bottle of whiskey, and they'd toasted the wily ways of women. JD had come along later in the night, grinning from ear to ear from a night with Casey and Buck couldn't have left then if he'd wanted to. 

Which, truth be told, he hadn't. 

He'd gotten up late and hungover this morning, but it had felt good. He'd needed a night of having fun, of not being on guard for trouble, of not being responsible. Of not wondering what he'd find out when he got to Chris'.

He'd planned to get here earlier, planned to get here by dinner time – he'd even gone over to Gloria's and picked up some grub; cans of beans, some fresh corn, and some flour and salt. He'd planned to pick up some fresh meat and eggs on the way out of town. 

But the plan hadn't worked out, either. What was supposed to be one beer with Nathan, who was tired and frustrated from a long day of seeing sick people who'd been angry because he'd been gone so long, had turned into several beers with Nathan, and then Josiah. And then Ezra had come along, worried about being out of practice after what he called his 'abysmal performance' the night before ('Lady Luck appears to have abandoned me in that dreadful place, probably taking up with that imp of a child and his she-devil mother'), so he'd let himself be drawn into a few quick games, just to help Ezra brush up, then Inez had had a problem with a drunk, angry cowhand and then – and then. 

He'd not leave Inez to close on her own, not after the drunk cowhand's friends had shown up more drunk and more angry. 

And here it was, very late at night, a while after midnight, and he was just now making it back to Chris' place. No meat, no eggs, though Inez had wrapped up some of the leftover food she'd made. And she'd given him a bottle of whiskey for his help – not the good stuff, but Chris didn't think there was any such thing as a bad bottle of whiskey, and Buck figured he owed it, seeing how late he was. Thankfully, the moon was bright, not full but close enough. The way had been easy, the pale earth shining almost as bright. 

There was a light in the cabin, the lamp turned low. No shots were fired as Buck called out a greeting, which he took to mean that Chris was either awake and knew who he was or dead drunk and passed out. 

As he unsaddled his horse and put him out to pasture with Chris' small herd, he considered the possibilities. It wasn't an anniversary, it wasn't a holiday, so there was no easy reason for Chris to be dead drunk. They'd spent way too long with that damned wagon train, and there'd been some trouble – and some 'trouble', at least for Chris. Mary and Gerald, who'd almost taken her away. Mary had decided, in the end, not to leave the town yet. 

But as he carried his saddle bags and his burlap bag of goods from Gloria's up toward the cabin, he considered the other thing that had happened on this wagon train. 

He didn't knock though he did slow down a little when he reached the door. It wasn't latched so he had no trouble opening it, but he didn't step directly in. Instead, he pushed the door open and stuck his head in, making sure that Chris wasn't sitting with a gun aimed. 

He wasn't. 

The room was warm, but it was from the heat of the day, not the stove. The light he had seen was from a lamp sitting on the small table near the kitchen area, the flame turned low. 

Buck put his saddle bags on the bench just inside the door and closed the door softly behind him. No words of welcome – or challenge – meant that Chris as either sleeping or – or . . . 

Sure enough, there was a whiskey bottle on the floor, its glass casting light in a small circle on the rough wood. The light it was reflecting, though, came not from the lamp on the table, but from the outside, through the big window that Chris had spent so much money on. So he could see the far hills that led back to his first home. So that he woke to the sun in the morning and went to sleep, like tonight, with the light of the moon. 

It reflected as nicely off of Chris' pale skin and bright hair as it did off the dirt outside. 

Or maybe it was the stars. They sparkled clearly in the dark sky, tiny diamonds that highlighted the ridges of the far hills. 

Buck found himself staring at the view. He knew it well, so well that he'd forgotten how beautiful it was. 

But he hadn't forgotten how beautiful this other view was. It was etched in his head, one that he revisited on many a night when he was alone in a bedroll or the more rare night when he was alone in a bed. 

He took full advantage of it now, though, staring his fill, looking at as much of the other man as he could see. Chris was a beauty, hard lines and sharp angles, points and planes, but every now and then, a curve – not soft, never soft, but just enough there to catch Buck's attention.

And the fine hairs on his arms and thighs, catching the starlight and casting it back. His arms, darkened by working in the sun, had golden hair that gleamed like polished coins. But his thighs, always covered in that modest way Chris had – well, most of the time – were more like the color of pennies, that darker brown that still shone like copper. 

Fine lines of color that made his skin seem like cream, or thick clouds, or new linens on a soft bed. Buck loved that skin, loved the way it looked, loved the way it felt on the occasions that he got to touch it, loved the way Chris loved to have it touched. 

That was the thing, though. As much as Chris loved it, he also hated it. He hated feeling pleasure, as if it were something he no longer deserved. 

Buck sighed, forcing his eyes away. The hills beyond were bright in the night light, outlined against the dark sky. Some of the twinkling stars seemed to rest on the land itself, scattered along the peaks and valleys of the landscape. 

An illusion, though, as Ezra would say, a trick of the eye or the mind. Just as Chris' pleasure was, a trick that came when he was drunk or too tired to remember that he wasn't supposed to be happy. 

Buck looked down. The bottle rested against Chris' boots, a thin line of amber glowing in a slice of moonlight. Not completely empty but empty enough. 

Buck leaned down and picked it up, watching the slim line drift to the bottom of the bottle. A few sips, which was something. More than usual anyway. 

Mary? It was possible, of course. She'd had her eyes on Chris for a while now, and though he'd said he wasn't interested, Buck wondered if maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, Chris had been thinking of her as another chance at family, another chance at the life he'd lost when Sarah and Adam had died. 

As he turned the bottle up to drink the last of it, another thought came back to mind, the one he'd had on the way in. It was a broader idea now, though, enough to make him sputter and almost choke. As he caught his breath, the idea circled around in his head, finally taking full and clear form. 

Vin. 

Vin and the woman, Charlotte, who he had left with. 

Vin, leaving. 

He'd loved the woman, or had cared enough to run away with her. To run away without saying anything to any of them. The two of them had come back, to warn of Dickie O'Shea's reinforcements. They'd stayed to fight the battle, and when it was over, she'd returned to her husband and Vin had come back.

Buck hadn't asked why; Vin had made it clear that his private life was private and Buck hadn't pried. He'd assumed that Vin had come to his senses, realized he wasn't thinking clear. 

But maybe he hadn't made the choice, maybe she had. It'd been pretty clear that she still loved her husband, even if she didn't seem to like him overmuch at that point. And if that was the case . . . 

If that was the case, then Vin wasn't really 'with them' – with Chris. He could go just as soon as he caught another scent of rabbit. 

The bottle was empty and warm in his hand. Chris shifted on the bed, rubbing his nose against the pillow. One strand of hair fell low on his brow, and the moonlight caught the copper color under the brighter gold. 

Chris had taken a shine to Vin early on, and fast. Buck had almost been jealous, but that wasn't his way, at least not once he, too, got to know Vin. Vin and Chris were two of a kind, and they needed the 'quiet' they gave each other. Buck knew that. 

Buck also knew that Vin, for all his 'quiet' had an appreciation for the ladies. He'd seen the younger man eyeing Lydia in those early days in town, seen Vin also flirt, in his own way, with Inez. That didn't mean, of course, that the younger man couldn't also enjoy the sharper angles and longer lines of a man – hell, Buck did himself. But if Vin did, he was more careful with that. And if he did, and, like Buck, his choice of male companionship was even more particular, well, Buck hadn't seen it yet in either Vin or Chris. 

So Chris' worry, then, wasn't about losing a lover so much as losing a friend. Which, to Buck's mind, made it even worse. 

But Vin had come back with them. And Vin had let her go. Even if she had been the one to call it off, Vin had accepted it – which, from the look of him before they'd gone off together, he wouldn't have accepted if he wasn't ready to. 

Chris shifted again on the bed, snorting and twisting, one hand lifting to rub clumsily at his face. One eye cracked open just a little, but it was enough. He jerked, both eyes going wide and surprised – until he recognized Buck. Then he snorted again and moved over to one side.

"When the hell'd you get here?" he mumbled. "Figured you'd left me for a woman, too."

'Too'. Yep, it was that damned thing with Vin. 

Buck put the bottle down on the table beside the bed, then, without thinking about it, he lifted his fingers to brush the strand of hair off Chris' forehead. It was softer than it looked, the hair thin and fine. "Ain't nobody leaving you," he said quietly, easing to sit on the side where Chris had made room. 

Chris tilted his head a little, like a cat who wanted petting, and Buck obliged. His fingers eased carefully through the tangles of bright hair, copper, gold, and yellow catching like sparks of fire. "Vin," Chris said, the word a little slurred. The alcohol was still in him, then, but that was all right. He'd be more likely to share his thoughts. 

Buck shook his head but he didn't let up his caresses. "Vin ain't leaving," he said softly. "He'd already have been gone. Maybe he was afraid you were gonna take up with Mary and leave us."

'Us'. Buck swallowed at the word. Maybe he had been worried about it. Maybe he didn't want to think about it but – well, it could happen. 

"Mary." Chris' forehead wrinkled and his nose twitched, but he didn't open his eyes. "Feel bad for Gerard. She shoulda stayed with him."

And as simple as that, it was done. Buck grinned, shucking out of his coat and hat, dropping his gun belt on the floor nearby. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots, then with another glance to Chris, whose skin seemed to shine in the bright light from outside, he skinned away the rest of his clothes. 

"'Bout time," Chris sighed, giving up a little more room but turning on his side so that his broad, bare back was to Buck as he settled again on the bed. 

"Yeah," Buck sighed, slipping one arm around Chris' waist and pulling in close. "Reckon it is." 

Chris drew in a long breath then relaxed against Buck. He was warm, but the night was cool enough that it was nice. "You sure 'bout Vin?"

"He ain't going nowhere," Buck said again, nuzzling against the back of Chris' ear. 

Chris didn't say anything else, but his hand closed over Buck's and within seconds, he was snoring quietly. 

Buck lay for a time, staring out at the far hills and the distant stars and the sparkle of gold and copper dancing in Chris' hair.


End file.
